Confessions
by Anderida
Summary: Stiles has to bare his soul and he's not a happy cookie. Stiles/Derek A bit of fluff in two parts as a thank you to all those who have ever reviewed or faved a fic. You guys are awesome.
1. Chapter 1: Aw Dad!

**Chapter 1: Aw, Dad!**

"Dad, can I ask you something?"

Sheriff Stilinski looked up from the file open in front of him on the kitchen table, as his son slid into the chair opposite.

"If I say, 'no', will you let me get back to the break-ins on the new commercial park?" he didn't bother waiting for an answer, "Sure. Shoot."

Stiles blinked then lowered his gaze to inspect the polished wood of the table-top. "Yeah, um, good, so, um, how easy would it be for you to use your police powers to, um, make someone move on? Y'know, quit town? Be outta here by sun-up?"

"I heard the words, Stiles. But you're gonna have to spell this one out for me, son."

Stiles looked up then and fixed his dad with what he thought was his best puppy-dog face; the one he had learnt from Scott.

"Well, see, dad, there's this guy. And I really think it would be best if he left Beacon Hills and just, well, went back to where he came from. And you being the Sheriff and all, well, you could make that happen, couldn't you? Threaten him with incarceration and police brutality. Make him realise that's it's in his best interests to leave town. You could totally put the frighteners on him."

"'Put the frighteners…' Stiles, what the hell? Have you been watching black and white movies again because you know that's not what life was like even back then, yeah?"

His father pushed back from the table a little, steepled his fingers and stretched his arms out in front of him.

"Who are we talking about here, son? Who do you want to pack up and leave Beacon Hills?"

Stiles was studying the polished wood again. "Could we just talk in hypotheticals?" he murmured sheepishly.

"You give me 'a friend of a friend' and any 'what if' scenarios and I swear I'll make you do your homework at the station with me for the next month. If you've got something to say then come straight out with it. Now, who are we talking about and why?"

"Derek Hale," Stiles bit out as if just saying the name had cost him dearly.

"Hale? The guy you got me to arrest after you falsely accused him of murder?" At a slight incline of Stiles head in confirmation his father sighed theatrically. "Stiles, what the heck is going on? You must really hate this guy. Has he, um, hurt you in any way, because, you know, if he has …"

"Dad! No! And I'm quite capable of looking after myself. No, he's done nothing wrong. At all."

"Okay, kiddo, then you better explain exactly what you've got against the guy. Because if he's done nothing wrong why would you want me to ask him to leave town? Not that I have that authority anyway. So, what's the what?"

"Um, see, well, I kind of …" Stiles voice dropped away as he tried to find the right way to explain his current predicament.

"Stiles! It's not like you to be lost for words. You sure he hasn't hurt you? Or, made you uncomfortable?"

"Yes, um, no, no. Not like that. That's the problem." Stiles threw his arms in the air in exasperation before dropping his hands on to the table, splaying them out, thumbs touching. He let his eyes trace around his fingers from pinkie to pinkie and back again.

"Stiles?" his father pushed gently.

"Okay, see, dad, I kinda, well, I kinda, um, _like_ Derek."

"Oh-kaay. You like him, but you want me to use my police authority to roust the man. A man who, if he had a mind to, could sue the pants off Beacon Hills PD, and me in particular, for abuse of power, wrongful arrest, unprofessional conduct and god knows what else because my own son lied to me in a murder investigation. Now you say, you like him. Yet you want him gone. Care to explain?"

The sheriff sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest in a way that Stiles knew meant he wasn't going to move until he had the truth. It was also the stance he took when he'd got his in-built bullshit detector running at full power. There was nothing for it now but to 'fess up and throw himself on his father's mercy.

"Well, you remember when you caught me with Danny outside _Jungle_?" Stiles asked slowly.

"_Jungle_? That club? And you tried to kid me you were gay?"

"Yeah, well, you see, I think that I might be. Gay, that is."

"And the Martin girl? How does she fit in?" His father's face was irritatingly neutral.

"I think she was a kid's crush that became a habit. I still like her. But somewhere along the line I just wanted her friendship. Nothing else. And if I did want something more with her it still wouldn't change, um, how I feel about guys. Well, um, one guy really. Just the one."

"Derek Hale," his father stated baldly.

"Yeah, Derek," Stiles nodded sadly, balling his hands up and thrusting them into the pockets of his hoodie.

"And how does Derek feel about…?"

"Oh no, dad!" Stiles interrupted in panic, sitting bolt upright, "No, he doesn't know. He can never know. God, dad, you can't tell him. Promise me you won't say a word. Oh my god."

"I can assure you that Derek will never hear about this from _me_," Stiles visibly relaxed at that, "but he will know right enough. When _you_ tell him."

"What? No!"

"Son, I can lecture you all day about high school crushes and how you're too young to know what you want just yet. Hell, for all I know this gay thing is a passing phase…"

"No, it's n…"

"Stiles! I'm not saying it is. Or that it isn't. But what I am saying is that this is none of my business. Unless of course you and Derek do anything about this before your 18th birthday – in which case it becomes my _official_ business."

"Dad!"

"No, son, you don't get to be shocked or scandalised by me. I'm simply giving you the facts. I have to uphold the law and I expect you to not put me – or Derek – in a difficult situation," he stated evenly, fixing his son with a penetrating stare before continuing. "So, now, you want me to ask Derek to leave Beacon Hills. Why exactly?"

Stiles pulled his hands out of his pockets and dragged them over his face. He groaned.

"Dad, I really like the guy. Really _like_ him. And I can't. I know that. He's older than me. He's a wer, … he's, um, yeah, older and I doubt he's into guys. I mean, I know he's had at least one girlfriend in the past so, you know, probably not gay. And he doesn't want an annoying kid like me hanging round all the time. He doesn't even like me – barely tolerates me. I think he only puts up with me because he sees Scott all the time and Scott and me are like a kind of package deal …"

"Derek and Scott are …" the sheriff asked, raising his eyebrows sceptically.

"Derek and Scott?" Stiles looked puzzled before pulling a face when he realised what his dad meant. "Ew, gross! No, not with Scott. Not with anyone as far as I know. Derek is, like, Mr Once Bitten Twice Shy and Scott is so into Allison it's painful. And, oh god, that was such a poor choice of words on so many levels!"

"So, Scott and Derek aren't ... ?"

"No! Derek just helps Scott with his training, um, for lacrosse. Scott wants to keep first line and Derek's helping with that. Yeah, lacrosse training. That's all."

"So I don't see your problem."

Stiles looked flabbergasted. "How can you not see the problem? I have to see Derek nearly every day and it … well, it hurts."

"Because?"

"And I thought you were a detective. I shouldn't have to spell this out to you," Stiles whined at his father, slumping back into his seat.

"Humour me," his father replied with the hint of a smile.

"You are such a bad parent. I should call Child Services and ask for a foster placement," Stiles moaned morosely.

"Explain. Or let me get back to the burglaries."

"Fine! I like Derek. I'm sure Derek hates me. I have to see him practically every day and it's killing me. Sooner or later he's gonna realise how I feel and then he'll want nothing more to do with me. And then I'll die of a broken heart. And it'll all be your fault because you wouldn't run him out of town when you had the chance!"

Stiles punctuated his outburst by forcefully crossing this arms, unwittingly mimicking his father's posture, and scowling bitterly in a way that may have looked uncannily like Derek's default grimace.

"And you haven't told Derek how you feel?"

"Were you not listening, old man? _Of course_ I haven't told Derek. Nobody knows. Not even Scotty. Just you now. I couldn't handle seeing the … contempt in his eyes. Couldn't bear the rejection. He mustn't know. You can't tell him. Please, dad!"

"Nope, like I said, it's not my place to tell anyone. But you, son? You're gonna have to man up and tell Derek how you feel."

"No! Whose side are you on?"

"Aside from my official duty to uphold the law, I don't have a 'side'. What I have is years of experience, infallible common-sense and a well-developed instinct for right and wrong. All of which tells me, son, that nursing your crush…" he held up a hand to forestall any protest, "or whatever this is, is not going to lead anywhere healthy. Talk to Derek. Do him the courtesy of finding out how he really feels about you. About your feelings for him. Don't make assumptions because that's disrespectful to Derek and unfair to both of you."

"Dad, I can't," Stiles whined as he laid his arms on the table and sunk his head down to rest heavily on them.

"You can and you will, son," the sheriff got up and came round to stand alongside Stiles, placing a hand firmly on his son's shoulder. "Stilinski's are made of stronger stuff. You know what you need to do. And you'll do it. I guarantee you that you'll feel better for having been open with Derek than if you continue to duck the issue. Zrozumieć?" [_Understand?_]

"Rozumiem, rozumiem," [I understand, I understand] Stiles mumbled sullenly to the table, "but don't blame me if I get returned to you in little pieces."

He knew he was screwed the moment his dad resorted to Polish, which was only ever used as a last resort in the Stilinski household. Since his childhood it had been the language his parents used to convey the seriousness of an issue and to ensure compliance with any instruction given him. He was conditioned to obey.

Now all he had to do was tell Derek. Yep, he was so screwed.


	2. Chapter 2: Um, Derek?

**Chapter 2: Um, Derek?**

The next morning Stiles found himself on the front porch of the dilapidated, fire-ravaged ruin that Derek called home. He wanted to run, but Derek must have heard his Jeep park up and would ask awkward questions next time they met when Scott would probably be with them. Too embarrassing for words! No, he could do this. He stood his ground and raised his hand to knock.

The door was wrenched open with force before his fist had connected with the wood and Stiles pitched forward, narrowly missing punching Derek in the chest. As he struggled to regain his footing and what little remained of his composure, Derek hitched an eyebrow expectantly.

"Oh, um, hi?" Stiles began self-consciously, staring at the charred floor.

"What?" It sounded more like a bark than a word and caused Stiles to glance up at the man at the threshold, half expecting him to have wolfed out.

"Um, see, I, um, I wanted to, um…"

"No words, Stiles? Are you sick or something?" Derek asked with zero concern.

"Sick? No. Um, yeah, I guess. But no," Stiles could feel panic rising and then panicked some more at the thought.

"Either you are sick, or you aren't. You're not making sense. Less than usual." Derek stood in the middle of the open doorway looking menacing and, at least to Stiles, bone-jumpingly hot. Either could be responsible for Stiles' ratcheting blood pressure.

"Why are you here?" Derek asked, his scowl factor increasing in proportion to Stiles' anxiety.

"I, um, I need to talk. With you. I need to talk with you," Stiles tried.

"So? Talk."

"Yeah, um … inside?" It wasn't so much for privacy, the house was way off the beaten track after all, but Stiles really felt the need to sit down right about now.

Derek seemed to consider for a moment, then stepped aside and raised an eyebrow which may have been a non-verbal invitation. A sort of eyebrow 'mi casa es su casa'. Or something.

Stiles managed to make his way to the main room without tripping over anything (or nothing) and without succumbing to a full-blown panic attack. He counted that as a check in the plus column.

Derek followed, giving him a look to rival Grumpy Cat, as Stiles dropped down onto the ratty couch.

"Sorry, man, but I needed to sit down," Stiles mumbled, glaring at the floor.

"So you _are_ ill?" Derek queried, sniffing the air unsubtly. "You don't smell ill. Although your breathing is shallow and your pulse is racing. Is it the flu?"

"Flu? What? No. No, I'm not ill. I don't have the flu or anything else."

Derek just looked at him with undisguised disbelief.

"Look, Derek, I came over today, not because I'm ill, because where would the sense be in that? I mean, you're not a doctor. You're not, are you? No, of course not. No, if I was ill, I'd go to see Scott's mom. She's a nurse at Beacon Hills Memorial. Oh, but you know that, right? So…"

"Stiles! The point? Assuming there is one."

"Yeah, um, the point. Well, I…" his eyes flickered up to the werewolf, then back down to the floor. "This was so much easier when I imagined you weren't here."

"Is it drugs? Christ, Stiles, what have you taken?"

Stiles looked up sharply then because Derek sounded … concerned?

"Wha…? No, not drugs. Holy god, why would you even think that?"

"Is it your medication? You took too much, didn't you? I can smell it."

Again with the concern. No, Stiles was sure he was reading this all wrong. Reading Derek all wrong. He was on the point of hyperventilating and it was obviously screwing with his reasoning faculties. He needed to focus, say what he came to say and get the hell out of Dodge.

"I did take a second dose of Adderall today, that's true. I don't usually on a Saturday but I knew I was coming here so I needed to stay focused." He extended a finger and traced a pattern in the upholstery next to him.

"This is you _focused_?" Derek asked, but he sounded bewildered more than judgemental.

"Well, more so than most weekends, yeah," Stiles shrugged.

"Why? Why come here? And since when do you need to take extra medication to come here?" Derek stepped closer until he was standing just a pace in front of Stiles.

The teen sighed and slumped forward, resting his hands on his knees, starring at Derek's scuffed black trainers.

"Derek, I need to tell you something and I need you not to freak or tear my throat out with your teeth. Okay?"

"What did you do?" Derek's tone mixed disappointment with resignation.

"Nothing! Look, just listen, okay?" Stiles retorted petulantly, "This isn't easy for me. I'll say my piece and then you never have to see me again. I'll tell Scott I'm frightened of you and that I have to keep away from all this wolfie business. He'll probably hear the lie but, well, okay, maybe he won't because Scott isn't the sharpest pencil in the case, so… Not that I don't love him like a brother, because I do, but… Anyway, whatever. After I've explained I won't bother you further. You won't have to see me again."

"What are you babbling about? Why won't I see you again and why are you lying to Scott?"

"Band-Aid!" Stiles said suddenly.

"What?"

"You know when you've got to remove a Band-Aid, right? The best way is to rip it off real quick?"

"Stiles? Wha…?"

"No, hear me out, Derek," the teen straightened and looked up into the confused face of the man standing in front of him. "I came here to tell you something and it's scary as hell. It's gonna hurt because I don't wanna say this and you won't wanna hear this, and then you won't wanna hear from me ever again, so that will hurt. Hence: Band-Aid. So, working on the Band-Aid principle, I'm just gonna come right out and say it."

"And yet here I am, still waiting for some sort of clue as to why you're here and why you need extra medication and why you think I won't want to…"

"I like you, alright! _Like_, like. You. Derek Hale. I like you. Me, Stiles Stilinski. Like you, Derek. And I know you're not into guys, and I know I'm not a werewolf, and I know this is freaking you out and you hate me now but…"

"I don't. Hate you. I don't."

Stiles' brow furrowed as he stared up trying to interpret the pinched face looking back at him. This wasn't going as he had planned and he couldn't quite get his bearings. He decided to press the 'reset' button and start again.

"You see, I'm well aware that I'm just a pale-skinned, skinny kid with ADHD, who irritates the hell out of everyone by talking too much. I know that, okay? You don't have to spell it out for me.

"And I know this is inappropriate, on so many levels, you know, _our_ age difference, _your_ sexual orientation, _my_ lack of lycanthropic attributes, and so forth.

"So I understand why you now have to tell me to never darken your door again, and believe me, I've no wish to revisit this humiliation. Trust me, I'll keep out of your way. Nope, I certainly won't bother you again, you have my word, and …"

"Wait, what if I want you to bother me?" Derek's voice was hushed.

"Oh. Okay, well, if you need any research done or whatever, you can text me or, no, preferably get Scott to…"

"No. Not for research. What if… What if I wanted to…to just see you?"

"Yeah, well, um, I'd have a bit of a problem there, big guy. Don't think I'm strong enough to, you know, see you for research and stuff, but not be able to, um, _see_ you. You know, on a non-researchy basis. So, I'm thinking cold turkey, abstinence, pretending you moved away from Beacon Hills, cold showers may be in my future…"

"But you want to see me? Not for research?" Derek's tone was as neutral as the blank expression on his face.

Stiles could just feel the condemnation rolling off the guy. This was so much worse than he'd thought it would be and he so needed this to be over. He took a steadying breath.

"Well, yeah. Didn't you hear the bit where I said I _liked_ you? As in _like_, like? But it's okay. I get that you don't like me back. You know, _like_ like me, or even **like** me. I'm cool with that. Well, no, I'm not, but I kinda of expected it so…"

"Stiles, you're an idiot!"

"Yeah, it's been said. And duly noted. I'll go." He got up, shifting his eyes to Derek's feet, fully expecting them to move backwards to give him room as he stood. They didn't.

"And if I don't want you to go?" Derek mumbled, and he was close enough that his breath was hot on Stiles' cheek.

"My dad knows I'm here. Kidnapping is a serious felony."

"What?"

"Look, I get this has probably grossed you out and you're probably really angry now and your wolf probably wants to go all 'grrr' and shred something, but you can't go round kidnapping innocent – and, oh, that's a bad choice of word – go round kidnapping blameless – mostly – teens who have just confessed to having unreciprocated feelings for you and …"

"Who says?"

Stiles blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Everyone knows kidnapping is wrong. What even?"

Derek huffed and shook his head, "No. Who said your feelings were unreciprocated?"

"Wha?" Stiles wondered why a draughty old ruin suddenly felt so hot and stuffy. He couldn't make sense of it.

A smile ghosted across Derek's face. "Stiles, you're ridiculous!"

"Okay, yep, got the IM on that. Hell, the 'Stiles is ridiculous' video has probably gone viral," Stiles complained, physically aching with his desire to start running and never stop.

Derek's expression was unreadable again as he murmured, "I'll ask you again: who said your feelings were unreciprocated?"

Stiles made a mental note to check the Adderall later for cognitive impairment side-effects because he was rapidly losing the plot here.

"Um, everyone? You know, the nerdy, pale, skinny, irritating ADHD guy never gets the super-hot hero. It's kind of like a fact of nature. Like gravity or Pie R squared. And you don't even like me. Period."

"Don't I?" Derek smirked, looking almost predatory. "You're wrong, you know. You're smart, not nerdy. I like smart. I happen to like alabaster skin. And I don't see 'skinny', I see lean. Lithe. You do talk too much but sometimes that's, mmm…, comforting. Endearing too, maybe.

"The ADHD isn't your fault. You might grow out of it. Or not. It's not relevant, except that I can appreciate the effort you put into minimising its effects. I think that's admirable. You're admirable.

"Then, there was age, you said?" Derek was that close that he only needed to whisper, "Not really a concern of mine, well, after your next birthday anyway. My orientation? Not an issue. Bi, for the record. But yours? Lydia?" Derek's eyebrows travelled north, presumably looking for an answer.

"Um, what?" Stiles swallowed. "Lydia? Um, habit I guess. But only ever Lydia. I think when I was younger she was a good cover for where my, um, interests really lay. Guys." Stiles shrugged, feeling his cheeks burning red. He wiped his palms surreptitiously on his jeans as he tried to work out what was happening.

"So, you're gay. Good to know," Derek murmured, piercing green eyes holding Stiles' gaze. "Then you mentioned you not being a werewolf. Do you really think that matters to me?"

"It doesn't?" Stiles asked, and even to his ears his voice had a squeaky quality to it.

"No, I like that you're human," Derek hummed softly, "I like your strength and your intellect. You have the bearing and courage of a wolf even though you don't have our physical abilities. And you constantly challenge me. I find that, um, enticing. Attractive. I find you attractive."

"You do?" Yep, definitely a squeak there.

"I do," Derek nodded slowly, shifting his gaze from Stiles' eyes to his lips.

"Oh my god, you do!"

Stiles instinctively angled forward and suddenly Derek's lips were on his, hands on the teen's waist, pulling Stiles to him.

As Stiles parted his lips to give Derek entry, he slipped his arms around Derek's neck, the fingers of one hand moving up to card through soft hair tentatively.

His stomach lurched and he felt light-headed. But he had never felt better: Derek Hale was kissing him.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed it. :-)_


End file.
